


You Belong to Me

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Series: ABO Dark!verse [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ABO, AU, AU of an AU, Abuse, Abuser POV, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Dark!verse, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Father/Son Incest, Gaslighting, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Not a nice fic, Physical Abuse, Rape, Statutory Rape, Underage Sex, dark shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: Filbrick is left to deal with a Stanley in heat when both Ma and Stanford are out of town.(The Dark!verse where it's Filbrick not Ford who fucks Stan.)





	You Belong to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Please, mind the tags. This is Dark Shit.  
> Title from "You Belong to Me" performed by The Duprees/ Patsy Cline. Pick your poison.

Filbrick Pines is not an idiot. He knows his family doesn’t think much of his intelligence, but he didn’t survive the tail end of a Depression and a world war by being stupid. He just knows the value of observation; of watching and waiting for the opportunity to act. As a boy, the other children thought he was slow; he didn’t respond to their inane questions and didn’t bother to play their pointless games.

He wasn’t like Stanford; the boy didn’t have a lick of common sense and would walk off the pier one day with his head in his books. No, Filbrick had a different kind of intelligence; intelligence that made him thrive in the Jersey ghetto and flourish in the trenches. It made the civilian life chaff, too dull and uninteresting, but the flashbang that did in his eyes made military duty impossible, so he sold _schlock_ like a _shyster_ and watched with increasing disappointment as neither of his sons manifested anything of real value. There’s hope, perhaps, for Stanford. The boy’s been invited to visit a university upstate at the end of the month; could get a scholarship. Less money Filbrick would have to spend on him.

But, Stanley. Boy’s an idiot; a rat that doesn’t know his ship is sinking. Between riding his brother’s coattails and his mother’s coddling, Stanley has no idea how the world worked and when the first leak springs in his delusion, the boy will have to sink or swim. The best the boy can do is some menial work fit for dumb animals like him and this backwater town had plenty to offer (though Filbrick will be damned if he lets that moron live in his house longer than he has to).

It’s just a kick in the teeth that the idiot’s an omega, too.

Filbrick figures it out before his wife and before Stanford. The two of them are so excited about the road trip that neither notice the little nuances that give Stanley’s true nature away. The fever, the irritability, the near constant smell of sex that clings to him no matter how many showers the boy takes--and Filbrick would be furious about the water bill if he didn’t find all of this just a bit amusing. Filbrick does what he does best: watches and waits.

The boys’ mother fusses over Stanley, a little worried about his fever but the boy assures her that he’s fine. He gives Stanford a hug, wishing him well. Filbrick gets a kiss on the cheek from his wife before she ushers Stanford out the door and in only a few minutes he’s alone with Stanley. The boy watches his mother and brother leave from the window. Filbrick observes him, then turns to count inventory. He is a busy man.

Stanley starts to go into heat the next afternoon. It’s not so bad, he’s just restless and underfoot until he darts off to the room he shares with his brother. Filbrick finishes his transactions, tidies the shop, stocks and balances the books, grabs a glass of water. He’s loathe to close early and miss the profits, but he won’t get much traffic if Stanley is going to be squealing like a bitch, scaring off customers. Filbrick chalks it up as a loss the boy can make up to him later.

Stanley does not come down for dinner so Filbrick goes up.

Going up the stairs, Filbrick can begin to hear the muffled sounds coming from the boys’ room. He tests the door handle, unlocked. The boy was either too stupid to lock the door or just smart enough to know that locking it was futile. Either way, it makes it easy for Filbrick to open the creaking door, to stand in the doorway, and observe.

Stanley is a mess, but so are most omega’s in heat--horny, insatiable things with no dignity, just desperation. He’s arching on the bed, stripped bare, giving Filbrick a perfect view of where the boy is fingering himself open, the sound is obscene, and would be ridiculous, if Stanley wasn’t also panting and whining, unable to find any relief despite trying. Stanley tries to jerk his angry, wet cock while writhing on his fingers, but he only moans louder, sound building into a frustrated shout. Filbrick is tempted to wait and watch, see how long Stanley can go before the boy comes crawling for him, but he’d like to open the pawn shop tomorrow. He walks to stand by the bed. Closer, he can see the way the sweat cuts through the ridiculous pomade and makes thick strands of hair cling to Stanley’s forehead and neck. He’s flushed from the tips of his ears to his chest, small, brown nipples erect among the sparse chest hair. Stanley’s eyes are closed, face twisted in distress and arousal, biting his lip, head thrashing from left to right.

It should be pathetic, and it is, but Filbrick can’t deny the thrill of his obstinate, knucklehead of a son being reduced to something so base, so fitting. Stanley releases himself with a whine that’s too high for his rough throat and blinks at the ceiling, frustrated tears making his lashes stick together. He seems to catch site of Filbrick, head snapping to stare in lust-muddled horror, fingers stilling between his legs. The boy is cornered, frozen. Filbrick takes uncharacteristic pity on him.

“Come here,” he says, pointing to a spot on the bed right in front of him. Stanley doesn’t move, just lays there, useless. Filbrick growls: “Now.” The low, authoritative tone penetrates Stanley’s sluggish, omega head and his buffoon of a son slowly, timidly makes his way to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Wha--”

“Don’t talk.” The boy’s mouth shuts with a click and a nervous gulp. Filbrick feels that alpha thrill go up his spine to see his pigheaded, idiot of a son so cowed and complacent. Filbrick reaches for his belt, pulls the tongue from the metal. Stanley flinches back, fear overriding heat as he tries to get away from the perceived threat. He’s stopped but Filbrick’s large hand digging into his hair, stilling the boy with a small cry. “Don’t move,” he warns, releasing Stan to continue working on his pants. He can see the kid shaking, nervous and horny and conflicted. Filbrick wonders if his timing was off; if he shouldn’t have waited an hour or more. It’s too late now and Stanley will be begging for him sooner or later.

Stanley’s face does an interesting job of going pale before the heat flush fills back in when Filbrick finally gets his dick out.

He’s not fully hard, he’s not some teenager that gets excited over every small thing, but he gives his dick a cursory squeeze and pull. Stanley seems to realize what’s happening, finally, and the shaking has intensified, his expression nauseated.

“Suck.” Filbrick holds his dick in one hand, gestures with the other. He’s annoyed but not surprised when his son shakes his head. He backhands the kid hard enough to send him sprawling on the bed with a shout, clutching his face. “Get up,” he growls, darkly pleased when Stanley pushes himself up to sit again, one hand still cradling his cheek. Filbrick grabs his dick again and fists the hair at the back of Stanley’s head. “Suck. You’ll want this wet when I fuck you.” Filbrick pulls his son forward, lets the head of his cock bump Stanley’s lips. “Not teeth.” The kid lets out another pathetic whine but opens his mouth.

Honestly, Filbrick isn't too fond of oral. Hot and wet, sure, and if it's done right the suction can be heady, but the teeth. Filbrick isn't keen on putting his cock in a cigar cutter. Stanley, fortunately, has just enough brains to hold his mouth open as wide as he can, letting Filbrick fuck it with ease, cock sliding over the plushness of his tongue, gagging the boy on deeper thrusts. Stanley's throat spasms with a sob and Filbrick finally groans, looking down at the kid’s clenched eyes and tear stained face, still flushed with heat. He roughly pulls Stanley's head off his cock, the boy coughs and wheezes, face a mess of spit and tears. His eyes are huge and wet, red from crying and unfocused.

“Turn around and kneel.” Filbrick pushes Stanley's head away and the boy obeys, turns so that his naked ass is bared to Filbrick’s scrutiny.

Filbrick isn't much for men, doesn't see the point in working to slick your partner if there was a wet, willing hole available. But in this, Filbrick almost sees the appeal. Stanley's ass is lily white, hair just starting to crawl up from his stomach and over his balls, the whole thing covered in slick leaking from the kid’s loose, pink hole. There are hints of freckles and acne, testament to his son’s age along with the smooth softness of the skin beneath Filbrick’s hand. Stanley shivers, anxious like a nervous horse. Filbrick considers soothing him with long strokes down the boy’s flank the way Filbrick remembers the coach driver quieting his horses. Instead, he rests a thumb beside the wet pucker and pulls, testing the looseness and making Stanley convulse and stifle a shout in his arms. His thumb slides in easily with a squelch, the boy’s body squeezing instinctively, hips stuttering. Stanley is so _hungry_ for it.

“Please.” Filbrick almost doesn’t hear the little, wet gasp; doesn’t know if his son’s asking him to stop or hurry up. He doubts Stanley knows either. He pulls his thumb out, spreading the hole again, and pushing two fingers in. There’s resistance, the kid’s fingers were still thin and small compared to Filbrick’s large, laborer’s hands. Stanley squeals, bucking and Filbrick has to grab his son’s waist to keep him in place. The kid’s collapsed, limp and pliant, gasping into the mattress and his forearms. At this rate Stanley won’t be able to take his knot, not easily, but there’s time. He works another finger in, three of his thick fingers stretching his panting, groaning son, pushing back for more. Filbrick allows himself an indulgent shiver, anticipation of that tight, hot muscle wrapped around his knot makes his hairs stand on end, the heavy coil of heat in his stomach flares. Filbrick is a patient man, but he is done with this foreplay and by the muffled sobs shaking the wanton body beneath him, Stanley is done, too. He draws his fingers out, wiping the worst of the slick on Stanley’s back. He grabs the cheeks of Stanley’s ass, spreads them, lining himself up. He can feel the tension in the body beneath him--feel the dam about to break.

“There’s no one here,” Filbrick starts, his son jerks at the sound. “You can be loud.” He pushes, focused, and the head of his cock breaks past the tight ring of muscle and slides almost painfully snug into Stanley’s hot body. The boy is a mess of moans and pants and “ _ah, ah, oh, God, oh, f-fuuugh._ ” Filbrick hasn’t even started fucking him yet. When he’s flush, balls to balls with his son, Filbrick takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of being completely sheathed, the trembling of the body he’s inside. The hitching breaths that make the back under him stutter, soft baby fat glistening with sweat. He grabs the soft hip beneath him with one hand, the other glides up, through the sweat, to rest on the back of the boy’s neck. He thinks: this is where Stanley is meant to be. Then he slowly draws out, breathing through his nose, listening to his son’s noises before thrusting back in. He keeps his pace steady, which must be agony for Stanley, who has begun trying to thrust back and alternating between swearing and moaning, hands clenching and clawing, unable to move much from the vice grip Filbrick keeps on his neck. It will bruise but most of it will fade before his wife and other son come home. Even then, Stanley acts up enough that no one will really bat an eye at another bruise.

His orgasm is slow building, Filbrick’s loathe to lose control in even this. When his son’s body loses its patience, and starts spasming around him an incomplete, dry orgasm Filbrick is stoked to _move_ , thrusting hard and deep, the soft body beneath him shuddering and squirming, trying to find purchase but getting none, Stanley's voice getting hoarse and desperate with: “ _fuck, ah, ah, fff-uuugh, oh, please, ju--ah. Ah, AH!”_ Another vicious spasm has Filbrick swearing, moving faster and harder, Stanley practically screaming in overstimulation. Finally, Filbrick feels that clench in his gut that tells him he’s close and he keeps his thrust deep, barely pulling out, until his feels his dick swell at the base. Stanley moans long and low as Filbrick’s knot pushes against the walls of his ass and seals them together. Then Filbrick thrusts, knot pulling, and Stanley shouts, thrashes against the hand still shoving his face into the mattress. Filbrick pulls once, twice, until the desperate pressure of Stanley’s body pushes him over the edge and he spills inside his son with a low groan. He feels Stanley tense under him before spasming in a true orgasm, body milking Filbrick’s cock until he is panting, Stanley groaning under him.

Filbrick lets his hands land on either side of Stanley’s flushed face, feels the panting breath on his wrists. He leans forward and gently kisses his son’s temple. The boy barely notices, or barely responds, just hums in delirious contentment--satisfied after long hours of frustration. Filbrick lets his hands wander over Stanley’s padded ribs, his plush chest, his round stomach. The dusting of hair is light and soft, he is too young for it to grow into the course curls he’s destined for. Filbrick knows it’s the endorphins, the knot talking instead of his brain, but he feels a fondness for his son in this moment that he has never felt before. This pliant, soft boy on his knot is better than the obstinate idiot his son seems desperate to be. He leans down again, one hand resting on the back of Stanley’s neck, thumb swiping up and down in a modicum of affection.

“I want you to remember this,” Filbrick says, and this is the most he has spoken at once since his wedding vows. “When you want to talk back, when you want to be a knucklehead, I want you to remember how much you wanted this.” He kisses his son again, near the eyes and Stanley flinches. “I want you to remember that this is where you belong.” Stanley shudders. Filbrick can’t stop caressing and pressing rare kisses to his son until his knot finally deflates. It’s a mess of slick and semen when Filbrick pulls out and Stanley makes a sound like groan. Filbrick tucks himself back into his pants. “Clean up,” he says and leaves, thinking about inventory and what he’ll do to make up the profits he’ll lose.

Stanley goes into heat several times before the rest of the family comes home. The boys’ mother comments on his quiet demeanor, his uncommon sullenness. Filbrick mentions that the boy lost a number of wrestling matches. Stanley flushes with rage and humiliation but doesn’t deny it.

Stanly gains weight. He fusses and eats less but gets rounder and softer. Filbrick figures it out before his wife and Stanford.

He unpacks the duffle bag he has on standby. Stanley might be worth something after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I got bit by this bug a while back and had to take a break from writing fluffy smut and just get this out.
> 
> In this verse, Filbrick is a person who is a brilliant strategist without the background to utilize that talent, so he is stuck being a civilian. He was raised by people who survived the Depression and has an obsession with money and practical skills. He's photosensitive; fight me.  
> Filbrick is also fucked as hell and a BAD GUY.
> 
> (My beta, who is not in this fandom, threatened to take Stanley away from me until I wrote some fluff.)
> 
> (The baby's name might be Sherman.)


End file.
